


The Price To Pay

by vrally



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, frozen, lieutenant duckling AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:27:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrally/pseuds/vrally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lieutenant Killian Jones has always considered himself to be a relatively honourable man. When he is asked by his Queen to do something he considers dishonourable, he is forced to choose between doing what he believes to be right and doing what he is told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price To Pay

“Three! Two! One! Time’s up!” 

The flagons slammed to the table, a few drops of mead splashing over the edge. With a cocky grin, the dark-haired lieutenant looked across the table at his adversary, who held his stomach, looking green. 

“I win again. Better luck next time, mate,” Lieutenant Killian Jones stretched his hand towards the man, who waved him off. Standing abruptly, the man rushed towards the door, only getting halfway there before the liquor made a reappearance. 

The group roared with laughter. Killian shook his head and his black bicorne fell to the ground with a thud. He turned, reaching to pick it up, but a hand grabbed it before he was able. About to protest, he glanced up to see his brother’s stern face frowning at him. 

“If you’re _about_ done, perhaps you wouldn’t mind straightening up and following me. We are needed.” Captain Liam Jones cast one last disapproving look at Killian’s disheveled hair and unbuttoned uniform before marching out of the bar. 

Fixing his hat back on his head, Killian cleared his throat. 

“Men, don’t ever let it be said that Killian Jones cannot hold his drink.” 

Then he spun and strode out, pretending not to hear the raucous cheering his statement has caused. Nonetheless, the corners of his lips tugged upwards into a half-smile.

The smile lasted him all the way to the gangplank of the _Jewel of the Realm_. As he boarded her, he caught sight of Liam, who stood on the far side of the Jewel, glowering. 

“Drinking? In the middle of the day? Honestly Killian, when will you learn?” 

Killian lowered his head at the rebuke, unable to defend himself. 

“Get yourself sober and cleaned up. Your _Queen_ requires your attention.”

Below deck, Killian splashed cold water on his face. Placing his hands on either side of the basin, he stared into the eyes of his reflection as if daring himself to sober up. 

His gaze fell to his mead-splattered uniform. Stripping down, he pulled on a clean set of clothes, combed his hair, and perched the hat atop his head. 

_Well,_ he thought, eyeing his reflection, _I suppose this is the best I’m going to get._  

They made their way from the harbour up to the palace and Killian tried to keep his eyes fixed firmly ahead. He couldn’t miss the giggles of the girls who walked the streets, or the way that they stared openly at Liam, skimming over Killian entirely. 

He knew that he shouldn’t have been surprised. His brother was taller and broader, with curly hair and a square jaw. Liam’s uniform was decorated with honours and his epaulettes distinguished him as Captain. Girls had always paid attention to Liam, talking to Killian only to ask for an introduction.

Once in the castle, the brothers were led to the doors of the throne room and made to wait. They sat in silence. His normally good-natured brother’s short temper had done nothing but raise Killian’s nerves. He could count on one hand the number of times that he had seen Liam this tense. 

_What could possibly be so dire?_   Killian opened his mouth to ask, but was silenced by an impatient wave. 

In the echoing quiet, Killian watched his brother. His usual stubble was absent, making him look more clean but also younger than normal. Killian rubbed his hand over his own scratchy face, thinking that he ought probably have tidied up more to see his Queen. His brother’s jaw clenched and relaxed in time with the ticking of the grandfather clock and he twiddled one of his curls.

Both brothers jumped when a loud thud reverberated through the hall. The doors to the throne room swung open and two guards escorted a young woman out of the room. Her bright orange hair fell in two plaits down her back, the shocking orange colour only amplified by a single streak of white. Countless strands of hair had torn themselves out of the braid and flew wildly in all directions.

“Elsa, please! You’re going to incite war, you can’t do this!” 

The girl continued to shout over her shoulder as she was dragged away. 

“You may enter,” a voice called from within the chamber.

The brothers exchanged a look before entering. Killian’s was probing, searching for some semblance of an explanation, where Liam’s was a warning to keep silent. 

They approached the throne and in synchronization bent a knee, keeping their eyes trained on the floor. 

“Rise.” 

Looking up, Killian’s first impression of Queen Elsa was that she seems worn. Her hair was tied back in an impeccable braided chignon, her dress was arranged artfully around her without any hint of a wrinkle, and her gloved hands were folded neatly in her lap, but she could not conceal the dark circles beneath her eyes or the way that the corners of her lips turn down. 

“Captain Jones, thank you for coming. And you have brought your Lieutenant… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, sir.” 

“Lieutenant Killian Jones at your service, your Grace.”

“You are brothers, I take it? And is your younger brother as headstrong as my sister, Captain?”

“He can be quite stubborn but he knows to obey his Captain, Highness,” Liam responded, clearly uncomfortable with being asked to call his Princess headstrong. 

“You should know, gentlemen, that I would do anything for my sister. Whatever it took to protect her,” her eyes darted down to her still-clasped hands, “I would do it. That is the nature of why I called you here.

“As you know, the Dark One has been amassing forces for quite some time. His army is at such a size that if he chose to attack, Arendelle would be decimated within days. We are utterly at the mercy of his whims at the moment, and two days ago he paid me a visit. He told me that he required that I offer him a gift to repay his benevolence, but what he requested I was unwilling to pay.”

“May we ask the price, your Majesty?” Killian had never heard his brother’s voice so timid.

“He asked for my sister, Princess Anna.”

Killian turned his head towards his brother, who stared at Queen Elsa with horror apparent on his face. 

“I told him that I could not pay the price, that my sister was the one thing I would not give him. I begged him for a second option, and he told me he would be willing to strike a deal. There is one other Princess suited to his needs. If I can deliver her to him, he will allow our kingdom to continue in peace and he will leave Anna alone.”

“And… the other Princess, my Queen?”

“Princess Emma of the Enchanted Kingdom.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“Another drink for the lady, my good man.”  
As she tossed back the shot of rum, the blonde observed her drinking partner through lowered lashes. He was undoubtedly handsome, with muscular shoulders, fair hair, and a brilliant white smile that hadn’t emerged until his fourth round. 

When she had entered the tavern, Emma had looked around and chosen this particular man because he was sullen and withdrawn, and she loved a challenge. It had taken quite a bit of flirtation to entice him to take that first shot, but as his cheeks and ears had flushed he had become loud and boisterous. 

Now he turned to her and grabbed her face between two large hands. For a moment Emma thought he was making to kiss her, but he simply stared into her face, a frown forming between bushy brows. 

“Maybe you should stop drinking. You’re a liny tittle thing, er, a tiny little thing, and you don’t want to go making decisions you’re going to regret.” As if to prove his point about her size, he grabbed her waist and swung her into the hair before dropping her back onto her stool. 

Ugh. If there was one thing Emma hated, it was patronizing drunks. She got more than enough parenting from her mother and father, thank you very much. It was why she had started heading to taverns in the first place. 

The first time, she hadn’t had any fun at all, glancing at the door every two minutes waiting for the door to slam in and guards to flood the room. But it hadn’t happened, and in the scratchy brown dress with her long hair down she looked nothing like herself. 

The first time a man had approached her and asked her name she had panicked and blurted out “Emma” before she could stop herself. The surname “Swan” had followed, a throwback to her childhood. As a young girl, she had always complained about being awkward, but her mother had told her that the most awkward cygnets turned into the most beautiful swans. Fortunately nobody gave a second thought to her name being the same as that of the Princess. After all, half the kingdom had named their daughters after the princess.

“Perhaps it is time I take my leave,” Emma apologized, dancing out of the man’s drunken grasp. 

She strode out of the tavern and was blinded by the sun. Blinking dazedly, she headed up the street towards the beach. Despite the man’s warning, Emma was in fact not that drunk, owing to the fact that after two drinks she had been tossing the shots over her shoulder. 

She made her way to the sand and removed her soft leather sandals and heavy skirts. Wearing only her underclothes was a relief in the sweltering sun, but it wasn’t until she had danced over the hot sand and splashed into the ocean that Emma felt better. She paddled out until she could no longer stand and floated on her back, arms and legs outstretched. 

With her eyes closed, Emma could almost pretend that she wasn’t a princess. It wasn’t that she was treated poorly but sometimes she felt so _trapped_. She envied sailors who could go where they wanted and do what they wanted. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“You can’t possibly want to do this, Liam!” Killian had been pacing Liam’s quarters for the past half-hour, trying to make him see reason. They couldn’t _kidnap a princess_ , not even for their Queen. “We’re supposed to be men of honour, not kidnappers!”

“We’re supposed to serve our _Queen_ , Killian. This isn’t about what we want. Our Queen has commanded that we bring her Princess Emma, and that is what we will do. I don’t want to hear any more arguing about this.” 

Killian spun on his heel and headed to his own room. There had to be a way out of this. The Queen had made it very clear what the punishment would be if they failed, and he liked his head firmly affixed to his shoulders, thank you very much. He couldn’t risk kidnapping the princess and returning her home, because while he might be able to hide, his brother could not. He couldn’t allow the Dark One to destroy Arendelle, but neither could he be a tool in provoking war with the Enchanted Kingdom. 

Killian scrawled out the list of his options, scratching them out more violently until he tore through the page. He held the paper over the candle on his desk, watching with a detached fascination as it curled and smoked, dissolving into ash that fell like snow into a pile on his desk. With the back of his hand he brushed the ash off the otherwise spotless surface. 

His desk was one of the few belongings in which Killian took pride. Made from Enchanted Forest Oak and carved by a dryad, the bureau had been passed down through three generations of Jones men. By right it should have been Liam’s but Killian’s brother had opted to keep the furniture that decorated the captain’s quarters of _The_ _Jewel._ Liam had ambition and pride that Killian usually admired, although today it proved a fault. 

KIllian shook his head. The warm buzz of liquor had begun to wear off, leaving only a fogginess and the beginning of a headache. Well, he thought, if Liam wasn’t going to take his advice in regards to abducting a young woman, then Liam could hardly fault him for ignoring his command to stay out of the tavern. 

He made his way off The Jewel and down into the village in the fading sunlight. If this was his last night as an honourable man, he would enjoy it. He swung open the door to the bar and was greeted by a cheer of “Look who’s back!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“Look who’s back,” Grumpy crossed his arms and turned towards Emma. “Remind me again why I don’t tell your mother or father about this?” 

Emma laughed, grabbing the burlap sack out of his hand and dancing past him. 

“Because then I might just let it slip to a certain fairy that you’ve been writing _poetry_ in the palace gardens?”  
“You wouldn’t—I mean, I don’t—you…”  
She wouldn’t, and she was fairly certain he knew that, but Grumpy liked to think he was being coerced into kindness. 

Emma walked down the hall, making sure to move at a decent clip. She kept her head ducked and carried the beige bag over her shoulder. Between her damp hair that was drying frizzily in its ponytail, the patched, dirty clothing, and her mannerisms, she could easily be mistaken for a servant—and it was for this that she was aiming, as it allowed her to move through the halls unnoticed. She took her first right and knocked at the door of a room that she knew was used for storage.

Nobody replied so she slid inside. She dumped the contents of her parcel onto the floor. A change of clothes and a hairbrush fell out. The clothes, Emma left on the floor, reaching for the silver hairbrush which seemed to glow slightly even in the dim light. 

She was unsure of quite how, but this hairbrush had always been able to fix even Emma’s worst hair days. She closed her eyes, picturing her hair with blonde curls falling loosely around her head as she pulled the brush through the tangles. They parted easily and after a few brush strokes her hair tumbled prettily over her shoulders. 

Emma cast a dark look at the outfit that lay in a pile before begrudgingly slipping them on. The brown dress she wore into town may have been unsightly but it was certainly more comfortable than anything she was permitted to don in the palace. Today’s poison was a floor-length, sea foam green number. The sleeves and skirt were made of chiffon which was, as far as fabrics went, usually quite comfortable, but the seamstress who had made the number clearly had a vindictive streak, as she had opted to make the top quite tight. 

Once dressed, Emma hustled down the hall, followed by the clacking echo of her heels. Her feet already ached. She jogged down the long corridor, descending the stairs two steps at a time. Emma didn’t feel the heel of her shoe catch her hem until she was flying through the air, the floor flying at her alarmingly fast. 

Suddenly her trajectory changed and she swung upwards, landing snugly in a pair of muscular arms. Lips still forming the scream that hadn’t escaped her as she fell, Emma looked up through her lashes at her hero, gaze instantly drawn to the impossible blue of his eyes.

“Careful there, your Highness. Wouldn’t want someone as lovely as you to fall into the wrong hands. Allow me to introduce myself. Captain Liam Jones, at your service.”


End file.
